Somewhere, a Clock is Ticking
by Bleu
Summary: My unrealistic take on the future for Addison and Derek, finished! Review and tell me what you love, hate, etc., but more importantly, enjoy!
1. It's Beginning to Get to Me

"**Somewhere, a Clock is Ticking"**

**By Bleu**

**I don't own them, I'm just borrowing them. Besides, I'm a poor college student, so unless you would like a mountain of debt, suing me would be a futile exercise. **

**:It's Beginning to Get to Me:**

She walked behind Richard with a hand on his shoulder, supporting him like a good friend would in a time of crisis.

_She hoped he didn't notice the extra involuntarily weight pressing on him as she tried to support her numb legs._

When they got to his office and he said he needed to be alone, she nodded understandingly without a word and let him close the door behind him.

_She hoped he didn't notice the tears that blurred her vision to near blindness, or that she wasn't speaking because she couldn't breathe._

When she was alone in the hall, she pressed her back against the cold tile wall and let the tears blossom on her lashes. They clang there for a few teetering moments before plunging down her cheeks, taking much of her expensive mascara with them, weaving a black liquid path down to her quivering chin. She gasped one single sorrowful sob, ending it abruptly when she dug her teeth into her bottom lip.

"How could I have been so stupid?" she managed, though the voice did not sound like hers. She brought an ice-cold hand to her mouth, and knew she was going to be sick.

She needed to go somewhere; she had to find a bathroom. Now. This wasn't going to wait. She knew there was one across the walkway that seemed longer now than ever before, but if she took off across it with her hand to her mouth, Richard would see from his office and probably follow her.

Her eyes darted around for some salvation. The last thing she needed was vomit down the front of her three thousand dollar dress, dripping onto her nine hundred dollar shoes. It seemed like a trivial thought at a time like this, but she didn't want to make a bad situation worse by being sick on her favorite couture.

Not to mention how it would look to have the head of Neonatal Surgery throwing up like a drunken teenager in her own surgical wing.

"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd?" a voice asked, but it seemed to be far away, almost down a tunnel. Her resolve not to be sick was taking all of her energy and focus, and still failing miserably. She felt herself waver, and put a clammy palm against the tile for support.

"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd?" the voice was more insistent now. God, couldn't they just leave her alone? She wasn't on call tonight, and she was obviously not in a state to perform surgery. Hell, she was having trouble staying conscious.

Just then, a bright light pierced her vision. She pulled back suddenly, hitting her head on the wall.

"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd, your pupils are dilated and your pulse is racing." The voice, a woman she decided, told her. Funny, she hadn't even felt the woman take her bloodless wrist and check her pulse.

"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd, can you hear me? It's Dr. Torres. You need to lay down, now."

Torres. Ah, yes, the orthopedic surgeon. She had assisted her on a surgery the other day. A four-month-old with a fractured femur. Abuse, no doubt. Disgusting. But Torres had performed remarkably.

She opened her mouth to tell Dr. Torres just that, but no words came.

_Oh no._

Before she could correct her mistake, she had thrown up everything she had eaten that day down the front of Dr. Torres's silky black gown.

…

"I'll replace the dress." Addison offered weakly, as Callie eased her onto a bed in an empty exam room. She probably should have taken her to the emergency room, but with the off chance being Addison Shepherd had simply had too much to drink, she didn't want to risk embarrassing her.

She regarded the soiled gown still wrapped tightly around her.

"It's okay. It was my sister's, too small on me anyway." Callie remarked as she stepped back. She looked again at the mess Addison Shepherd had made of her dress. Lucie was going to be furious. Ah well. She owed Callie from the time in high school she hit the curb in Callie's car and put a $400 dent in the bumper.

"Let me change, and I'll take your temperature." Callie tossed open the door of a cabinet and pulled out a pair of scrubs.

Without a consideration for modesty, she bunched Lucie's dress into her hand and threw it into a Biohazard can. As she slipped the scrubs—far too big—over her head, she ventured a glance at Addison Shepherd. Despite what she had heard about the woman's past marital infidelity, she admired her enormously. Before assisting her with a surgery a few days prior, Callie had read up on her career, and the woman was literally a medical genius with a diverse and successful career. Upon working with her, Callie also come to find out that she was compassionate and truly cared about her patients, as well. It wasn't just the money or the God-like complex for Addison, Callie could tell.

_And, _Callie thought, _it's not like Derek Shepherd is any marital saint, either._

Her mouth filled with a bitter taste as she looped the drawstring of the pants tight around her. She wondered if Addison had a clue. It would explain why she was drunk, if she was. Callie pulled a thermometer from a nearby rack, and turned to Addison.

"Here, just to check." She offered it, and Addison reluctantly took it. After a moment, a chime signaled the end of the thermometer's activity, and before Callie could reach for it, Addison pulled it from her mouth and examined it.

"98.9. Not high enough for concern." She discarded the cap on the thermometer and tried to stand before Callie could even respond verbally.

She did respond, however, when Addison nearly toppled over. She eased her back onto the bed, and noticed the woman's face had gone paler. It was then Callie realized it wasn't intoxication; in Addison's face she didn't see the glazed fugue of alcohol but the poignant, horribly alert expression of pain, and fear.

"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd…Are you all right?" she asked, thinking of how stupid that sounded. To her surprise, Addison smiled and expelled a harsh sound that probably was a laugh beneath the self-reproach.

"Oh, Dr. Torres…" she said, averting her gaze, an unusual gesture. Callie had noticed the woman had a way of holding the gaze of whomever she was talking to quite intensely. But then, she wasn't a confident, self-assured surgeon with years of successful work behind her right now. She was a woman who was sick, scared, and…something. Callie didn't say a word.

"Dr. Torres…" Addison said again, a humorless smile on her face. "…I am not sick. I'm simply, terribly stupid." She laughed again, and lay back on the bed with her hand to her forehead.

"Doctor…I don't…" Callie couldn't quite form the words, and Addison started laughing. At first it was abrasive, filled with bitterness and seeming disbelief, and then it rose in pitch, and became desperately hysterical. Then, before Callie knew it, Addison was no longer laughing, but crying so hard her breath became labored gasps.

_She knows. _Callie decided immediately and sorrowfully. She rushed to grab a box of tissues, sat Addison upright, and made soothing noises until her breathing became controlled and she had calmed. Callie had a feeling of surrealism. This was just bizarre.

First, she had seen Derek and Meredith at the end of what was undoubtedly some kind of sexual encounter. Then, she had watched as a sobbing, devastated Isabel Stevens had to be pulled off of the body of her dead beloved. And now, here she was, trying to keep Dr. Addison Montgomery Shepherd from hyperventilating. Not to mention, she'd been vomited on in between these events and her "I love you" to George was still dangling midair over their relationship.

If it weren't so awfully tragic it would have been hilarious.

"You…know." Was all she managed to say as Addison dabbed helplessly at her puffy eyes. Addison nodded.

"Yes. Yes." She turned with a quizzical look to Callie. "You do, as well? Dear God, did they fuck in the lobby of the hospital? Or just the elevator?"

"I…I was looking for Meredith…" she had been stunned by the sudden obscenity from a woman who didn't seem capable of such a word.

"Dr. Torres, I apologize. Vulgarity, though I've had many experiences with it, never serves me much good." She sighed heavily and dabbed her eyes.

"Well, in a situation like this, you must be shoc—,"

"No." Addison cut her off, though she spoke barely above a whisper.

"Excuse me?" Callie asked.

"No." Addison reiterated at normal volume. "I am not shocked. Shocked is the last thing I am. I've known my husband was in love with Meredith Grey and she with him for months now. Before I even came to Seattle." She took a shaky breath.

"It still can't be easy." Callie countered softly.

"No. No, it's not." Addison looked down at her hands, which were clenched around a damp tissue.

"Can I…can I do something for you? I know you probably don't want to see him right now, but I don't want to risk you fainting or being sick again. Is there someone I should get for you?" Callie inquired.

"All I need," Addison responded, "is a glass of water and a few moments." She carefully eased herself into a sitting position, then standing, and then she edged over to the counter.

"With all due respect, Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd—,"

"Addison. Please."

"—Addison, I think you should let someone examine you. You are clearly sick." She emphasized, switching to her sterner voice, reserved for patients who resisted. Doctor or not, this woman wasn't well, and Callie would be damned if she let her crack her head on the hospital floor.

_Though, the surgery I'd perform to save her would be pretty fantastic._

Addison drained a plastic cup of water, took a few breaths, and shook her head.

"Dr. Torres, I'm not some arrogant patient. I am not ill. At all."

"Then what is your diagnosis? Periodic loss of consciousness and vomiting?" Callie demanded, as Addison straightened.

"The loss of consciousness was a result of stress and improper diet on my part. Not good, but normal under the circumstances. The vomiting is a common symptom, as is bloating, fatigue, light headedness, heartburn, and over-sensitivity." Addison replied with medical confidence, more akin to the woman Callie was used to seeing on the surgical floor.

Even still…Callie frowned.

"It's not as if you're…" Then, with horrible clarity, she met Addison Shepherd's steady, mournful stare and knew.

"Pregnant?"

**A/N: Boredom in Art History class led to some musings about my beloved Grey's Anatomy, premiering this Thursday (YAY!). I'm not necessarily an Addek fan, or particularly a Merder fan either. I like them all equally (though I'm a bit mad at Derek), and this is just a random thought as to what probably won't but could happen. Thoughts?**

**Ps- I made the comment about Callie's dress being too small because it really annoyed me in the finale. She's beautiful, but the costumer was just not thinking, in my opinion.**

**-Title of both story and chapter are Snow Patrol songs. Good stuff.**


	2. Tiny Little Fractures

"**Somewhere, a Clock is Ticking"**

**by Bleu**

**:Tiny Little Fractures:**

It took Addison less than three nanoseconds to decide that casually sharing a secret she had been harboring clandestinely for eight weeks with Callie was probably not the most prudent decision she had ever made.

And she had made some pretty unwise decisions in the past.

The six feet of previously empty space separating the women in the exam room shrunk abruptly and was immediately teeming with tension. Addison fingered the edge of her only slightly stained dress as Callie blinked and tried uncomfortably to clear her throat.

"I-I'm sorry." Addison stammered, and found herself floundering again, her confidence shaken. She damned the weakness in her voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just throw that on your lap."

She watched as natural astonishment and discomfort battled with the orthopedic surgeon's resolve to remain noncommittal in expression.

"That's fine, Doc—Addison. Really." Callie bit her lip. She remembered the feeling she was experiencing from many she had experienced as a teenager—the ardent desire that the earth would open up and swallow her, taking her far away from her mortifying present.

Addison's resolve, which had been hesitantly reconstructing its walls, crumbled. She turned quickly to hide her face.

"If you…if you could not say anything…" her voice was shot through with cracks of desperation. "I really am sorry. You can go. I'm fine." She wrapped her hands around the edge of the counter until her knuckles were white and pressed her eyes shut.

Callie felt her chest actually ache. She watched as the muscles—exposed by the beautiful gown Addison was wearing—constricted and bunched in painful looking contortions as the woman struggled valiantly and vainly against tears.

She could have left. She could have left Addison in the empty exam room, alone with thoughts of Derek and Meredith, of a child that would become another variable in the strange algebraic equation of their lives, and of her own mind and soul, obviously tormented. It was tragic, undoubtedly, but not Callie's problem. She had only just met Addison Shepherd. She liked her, but she didn't know her. There was no basis of friendship whatsoever. She was in no place to offer advice and Addison had no reason to accept it, were it offered.

And, Callie was only now gaining fragile, tentative entrance into George's "family," which included Meredith, and very clearly excluded Addison.

Callie turned, slightly, enough so her heel made a slight scratch.

"Please, Dr. Torres." Addison rasped, pressing her hands over her mouth. "Please, go. Forget, forget I ever said…"

Addison physically reacted when Callie put her hand on her shoulder.

"No." Callie stated. Addison looked at the girl's hand, to Callie's eyes, back to her hand, and then slowly back to her eyes.

"You don't…"

"I know." Callie returned her hand to a more comfortable position by her side and half-smiled. "But really, we're probably the two most hated women in this hospital. It's about time we became friends."

A smile curved Addison's lips.

"I suppose you have a point." She took another paper towel from the nearby dispenser, and dabbed her dried mascara futilely.

"So…does he…know?" Callie inquired, unable to think of anything more appropriate.

Addison paused in dabbing her eyes, turned from Callie to the dispenser, gauged her reflection for a few moments, and then shook her head.

"No." She could have stopped there. Instead, she averted her eyes to her hands, nervously folding the towel around and through her fingers.

"Oh." Callie responded. Not that it was in any way a justification, or even a realistic idea that if Derek had known of the baby he wouldn't have had sex with Meredith, but somehow it made things a little better for his soul. Not, Callie realized, for Addison's.

"He…we…we've been married eleven years." Addison explained, feeling…old in that moment. She turned, leaning her back against the counter. "We talked about children in the beginning—neither of us was outright opposed to having them, but we wanted careers, too. So we decided when the time was right, we'd know and we'd do it then." She tried to remember that Derek, who had been so full of ambition and light and ideal. He—and she—thought they could have it all. And now here they were…

"Anyway…it became the cliché. "The right time" never came, and then there was the careers, the distance, the affairs, the reconciliation…it just never happened."

"What changed now?" Callie asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Addison lowered her head.

"I got…desperate, I guess." She shook her head slowly. "I didn't think so at the time, but now I realize that's exactly what it was." She swallowed, and her eyebrows creased in a fashion Callie knew she was about to cry.

"You don't have to…I didn't mean to pry."

"No, no, I'm okay." Addison took a breath and pushed a few errant hairs from her face. "About three months ago, the man—Mark—with whom I had cheated on Derek, came back to Seattle. Full of pleadings, promises, anything to get me to go back to New York with him. He outright told me Derek didn't love me."

"How heartless…" Callie began, disgusted.

"Sensitivity was never Mark's strong suit. He didn't mean to hurt me—in fact he's one person I think would never deliberately hurt me. But he…well, he wanted me to come back with him. And with Derek…it was so hard. The unspoken blame, guilt, denial of his relationship with Meredith. It took so much out…I was so tired…"

"You were tempted," Callie supplied after Addison stopped speaking. "You were tempted to go back to New York with Mark, weren't you?"

Addison closed her eyes just as two fresh, mammoth tears streaked down her face.

"Yes. I was." She let her head fall back as she blinked against more tears. "I was so ashamed. Derek had left, and he was so angry, furious, enraged. But not in a way that…not yelling, not jealous, just furious. No passion for me, for any of it. Just fury at being betrayed...the fact that it was me didn't matter." she brought her head back, and smoothed her dress.

"Mark had, had asked me to meet him at Joe's if I changed my mind. I didn't go there, but I didn't go home either. I walked…around. The hospital. The neighborhood. Seattle. I was…I was giving Derek time to leave me again."

"But he didn't?"

"No. He didn't. I finally got back to our house after dark, and he was…there. I was shocked. I couldn't even speak. I changed into my pajamas, and then tried, but he was…silent. Distant. Unreachable." She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes as a sob escaped her.

"I-I-I sat in the living room, staring into my coffee, for two hours. He was there, but he wasn't. He spoke, smelled, felt, looked like Derek, but he wasn't. Not for me. He didn't want to be there anymore, I knew it. And all I could think…was how long will he be able to suffer to be "the good guy"? I had…I _had _to do s-s-s-something…" Sobs wracked Addison's entire body, and Callie rose quickly, put her hands on her shoulders, and swiftly guided her to sit in a nearby chair.

"Addison…Addison, you need to breathe." Callie grabbed a paper bag and handed it to Addison, who was shaking so badly she could hardly hold it.

"I-I didn't tell him but I s-s-stopped taking my contraceptives...Oh God, how could I have been so _stupid..." _she choked in an effort to breathe.

"Relax, Addison, relax. Take deep breaths. Focus on inhale, exhale…crying will make it worse…try to fight it…" She continued with similar soothing phrases, even while Addison gasped, "how could I have been so stupid," over and over in heartbreaking anguish.

The pain and despair became tangible, flooding the room, and Callie could barely keep from crying as the minutes passed, but finally, with her head buried in her hands, Addison was still.

"There you go. Your baby is very grateful." She assured her softly with a smile.

"Have you ever considered a career in neonatal or pediatrics?" Addison inquired thoughtfully as she looked up at Callie.

Callie laughed. "Can't say I have."

"Shame. You'd be a good one."

Callie blushed in spite of herself.

"Well, Callie…" Addison stood with more stead than Callie would expect. "I've traumatized you enough for one night, I suppose. But hiding in here," she made a gesture to the hospital, "won't change anything." She moved past Callie, but then turned and unexpectedly embraced her.

"Thank you." She whispered. "Thank you so much."

"I'm so sorry. This is…unfair." Callie replied, returning the embrace.

Addison was the first to break the embrace, and she walked to the door.

"What will you do?" the words tumbled out of Callie's mouth, falling on top of each other out of newfound, oddly deep concern.

Just when she was about to pass the threshold, Addison slowly wrapped her fingers around the doorframe, turned, and whispered, "Just keep breathing."

**A/N: Two chapters in one day is a record! But I'm not sure what to do about continuing, improving, etc. Let me know what you think. Thanks.**

**-And a big thank you for those of you who reviewed so far. Muchly appreciated!**

**-Again, chapter title is a Snow Patrol song. Showing the love.**


	3. Ways and Means

"**Somewhere, a Clock is Ticking"**

**by Bleu**

**:Ways and Means:**

He looked like a French film hero.

Tall, lean, tousled black hair, perfectly tailored black and white tuxedo undone at the collar, standing with slightly slouched shoulders and hands fisted in his side pockets as he stared out the glass of the rain-bathed hospital windows.

The only thing missing was the contemplative, melancholy tickling of a solo piano.

And subtitles.

"Derek?"

No motion.

Addison, who had been standing stationary two paces behind him, took a half step forward.

"Derek?" she repeated.

Finally, like the classic Indie film hero, he slowly turned to her with a beautifully tortured expression on his perfectly formed face.

She said nothing, mirroring his silence. She watched him stare through her.

He was pretending to look at her. Pretending. That's all Derek ever did anymore. He probably thought he was the consummate actor, when in fact, she had known all along it was a charade.

How long she had known and how long she had been able to admit it to herself were very different times, but the fact remained, she knew.

"Why?" she said aloud accidentally. His face drained of color and his lips parted in amazement.

"Why…what?" he asked in obvious distress.

"Why…" at the last moment, she faltered. "…don't you take me home?"

…

Of course he didn't say anything on the way back to the trailer.

He stewed. Stewed as he guided the purring Mercedes along the smooth asphalt of the city, and continued stewing even when the terrain roughened, when it was less like driving a luxury sedan and more like commandeering a ship in a storm. The windshield was awash in rainwater, the wipers rendered ineffectual.

Addison reclined her seat slightly, wrapped her jacket around herself protectively, and subtly laid a maternal hand over the exact position she knew her baby to be laying in.

Granted, the baby was a little more than an inch long as this point, but in the weeks she had kept the pregnancy a secret, the child became her only ally, the only one privy to the entire truth about Addison's life. It had been she and that baby against everyone else.

_Funny, _she thought. Because of her discretion thus far, she never really thought about it as Derek's baby…until just that moment. Remaining immobile, she shifted her eyes to his profile. A good profile. Beautiful. Saved from pretentiousness by his crooked, irresistible smile, and his eyes. _Those_ eyes.

She hoped her baby—their baby—would have his eyes. And, as imperfect as it was, his soul. He had such a good soul, he really did. He was hard on himself—so was everyone else. He'd made mistakes—a lot of them. But Addison knew the goodness of his soul, remembered it, and she hoped desperately he would one day remember when she had possessed that goodness in her soul, too.

Tears, which she damned to the seventh ring of Hell, collected in the corner of her eyes, but didn't fall. She took a deep breath, and in that moment, promised she would not cry again tonight. She couldn't.

Finally, the trailer came into view. She'd never been so happy to see that shack as she was then. It had to be now, and it would be quick. She wouldn't spare melodrama, games, or anything. Not even tears.

Derek guided the car to a crackling, bumpy stop behind her car, and had just silenced the hum of the engine when she said it.

"I want a divorce."

Keeping his hands on the now dormant ignition and face in profile to her for several beats, he nodded slowly, comprehending.

"Okay."

A long moment passed. Only the slosh of heavy rain was audible. _No games._

"I'm pregnant."

She might as well have slapped him across the face.

"What?" he choked, his voice a mangled blend of every emotion at once. He turned his entire upper body in a sudden, jerky movement to look at her.

"Addison…" his voice became stern, and his jaw tightened. "Is this a joke?"

At that moment, just in that moment, she hated him.

"No, Derek, no!" she cried, though her eyes were drier than parchment. "Do you think I would **joke** or **trick** you with something like this? Do you-do you really think I'm that _stupid_?"

"How did it happen, then!" he demanded, his hands raised in confusion.

"I don't know, Doctor, where _do _babies come from?"

"Sarcasm. Excellent." He dipped his head and rubbed his temples with his middle finger and thumb. Addison stared miserably at the gearshift.

She let approximately thirty seconds of infuriating silence pass before she said, "To Hell with this…" threw the car door open, and stomped into the torrential downpour.

Fumbling in her coat pockets for her keys, she didn't hear him get out of the car.

She was reacting instinctively when he put his hands on her shoulders and actually backhanded him with her left hand.

"Jesus Christ, Addison!" he shouted over the din of the rain, holding the side of his cheek that was slashed with blood and rain. She wriggled free and had her hand on the driver's door of her car when he grabbed her arm and yanked her back around, pulling her up against him.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, the blood from his gash almost cartoon-like when it mixed with the rain and ran freely down onto his collar.

"What am I doing? What are you doing!" she screamed in his face, trying desperately to free herself from his hold.

"Come inside, now, Addison!" he didn't give her a choice.

With enough force to physically move her but not enough to hurt her, he managed to half push half carry her into the trailer amidst her rebukes.

When she was in, he slammed the door behind him, and walked slowly to her as she stood with her back against the counter.

He moved slowly towards her, and she slapped him again.

"Eow…" he made a gurgle of odd noises indicating pain as he wiggled his jaw to make sure it was still aligned, his eyes wide with shock. "Is it out of your system yet?" he asked, almost humorously.

"How dare you ask what I think I'm doing?" she nearly shrieked. "What the hell are you doing Derek? Oh, that's right—Meredith Grey!"

After the words were out of her mouth, she felt empty. It was out. The truth had been expelled. In that last sentence, she had drug out every nasty, unspoken secret they had both been attempting to bury in marriage counseling and sugarcoat with old memories the past few months.

"I did." He said solemnly.

Suddenly devoid of all will power to scream, yell, or much else, Addison expelled a heavy sigh.

"I know."

His eyes softened sorrowfully.

"How?"

"I just did." She crossed her arms protectively around herself. "Even if I didn't know you actually had sex tonight, you've been emotionally with Meredith Grey for months now. Assuming you ever actually stopped, which I'm beginning to doubt."

Another silence ensued, this time tension free. It was just miserable.

"You should…you should put something dry on." He said softly, reaching to ease the coat from her shoulders. She allowed him the liberty, more for herself than him. He pulled the soaking garment from her, exposing her beautiful gown. The gown she had bought in secret two days ago, and hid in her locker at work, because it was his favorite color on her, and dipped low on her back, the way he liked her dresses to, the way her wedding dress had.

With gentle movements, Addison went into the bedroom, collected a pair of grey sweatpants and an oversized tee shirt, and in a gesture of modesty, changed in the bathroom.

When she emerged minutes later, Derek was sitting on the end of the bed holding her gown.

"This is a beautiful dress." He told her sadly.

She only stared.

"Thanks. Too bad it got ruined." She didn't gesture to the stain on the edge he already saw, a remembrance of her episode with Callie.

"Come on, drink this. It will help with the nausea…" he trailed off as he handed her a concoction, and looked down, presumably at her abdomen. She moved her hands to lace protectively in front of it. He noticed the gesture of protection, and possession, and moved his eyes back to her, hurt.

"How far along?"

"Eight weeks, four days."

"Have you had…any exams?"

"I performed the initial test and ultra—what?" she asked, when he smiled slightly.

"You're the only woman I know who would have performed her own ultrasound."

"What choice did I have? Should I have called Bailey in? Or maybe Meredith?" She replied with childish pettiness when she drank the drink he offered.

He watched her, tragically handsome and tortured in his rumpled tuxedo in the drab surroundings of the trailer. He had swabbed and cleaned the two-inch gash she had created with her wedding ring when she slapped him, but he hadn't covered it, so the angry red slash made a stark contrast against his skin.

"I…I can't explain that, Addison. I won't…degrade either of us and try." He moved to the side. "Sit down."

She tapped the side of the glass with two fingers, remaining standing.

"Fine." He stood, and came towards her. She backed up instinctively, and he stopped.

"What is this, Addison?" he held his hands out, palms up, confusion and pain and question flickering over his features.

"I…I can't." she said softly.

"Can't what? Stand within five feet of me?"

"Yes. Or five yards. Or five miles. I have to be away from you." She took a final gulp of the drink and set the glass down on the coffee table with a decided thunk.

"You're not serious."

"I am." As she made an attempt to move past him, he made a move to block her. She froze inches from the arm he put in front her, and closed her eyes.

"Please, Derek, don't make this more painful than it has to be. I'm tired."

"I won't let you go, Addison." He told her softly, though it was firm. "I won't."

"Yes, you will. Because you don't love me like you did. You love Meredith. Don't even bother…just don't even bother denying it. It would be ridiculous, and insulting."

He slowly lowered his arm.

She moved by him, maneuvered around the bed, and began rooting in the wardrobe.

"Where…what are you doing now? You can't leave tonight!" he insisted, coming beside her and pulling the suitcase from her hands.

"I can't stay with you Derek, are you not hearing me?" she cried, pleading to him, dangerously close to expelling the tears she thought were dried up. He gently took her into his arms, his eyes determined. Before she could—or would—fight it, he was kissing her.

It was gentle at first, more tentative, but when she began to respond involuntarily by fitting her body against his, it deepened and he sunk his hand into her hair and locked her mouth with his. A warm, liquid feeling rose from her stomach, stinging her eyes, and a tear gushed out in response.

It landed on her lip, and was soon devoured in their kiss. Tasting somehow the sorrow, Derek flinched, but it was Addison who pulled away.

"No." she whimpered.

"Why?" he asked hoarsely, letting his forehead rest against hers.  
"Because…it would never end. This cycle. You can pretend all you want that you aren't in love with Meredith, but not for very long. You might think now that we'll have a baby you could be in love with me again, but the truth is you won't ever love me like you used to."

This time, it was his eyes that filled with tears.  
"But Addie, I can't just let you leave. What kind of man would I be? We can work this through." Tears finally spilled from his eyes, and he pulled her into an embrace. She worked her arms around him and rubbed his back.

"Derek, you're a good man. You're a decent man. You tried—God, you've tried for all of these months so hard. A lot of other men would have thrown the signed divorce papers in my face as soon as I showed up." She hugged him tighter when he shuddered a sob into her hair. "But it just won't work. We don't work anymore, not as husband and wife. You deserve to be able to be in love, and I deserve to be loved."

A long while passed, and the rain soon reduced to a soft whir on the trailer roof. They stood in a tight, clinging embrace all the while, crying into each other's shoulders.

Finally, Addison pulled away, and for the first time, Derek allowed her to.

"Please just stay tonight." He pleaded, still holding her hands.

"Okay."

She crawled into bed, and he soon joined her, lacing his fingers with hers.

"I do love you, Addie." He whispered in the dark.

"I love you, too, Derek."

They fell asleep like that, lying on their backs, eyes to the heavens, hands linked.

…

"I don't see her."

"She's right there."

"Where? No way, that's the uterus wall!"

"No it's NOT! My uterus doesn't have a head, Derek!"

"Well I certainly hope my daughter's head isn't that wide!"

"You and me both!"

"—What is going on in here?" Miranda Bailey demanded, finally managed to open the door to the exam room after hearing the bickering and laughter. She froze, upon seeing Dr. Shepherd and Dr. Montgomery staring intently at the sonogram machine, both of their faces twisted in concentration.

"Miranda, come over and show Derek, the world renowned brain surgeon, that this," she jabbed her finger at a vague shape on the screen, "is not my uterus wall and is in fact the baby!"

Miranda shuffled over to the screen. "Oh brother. I should know better than getting involved with your domestic disputes."

She studied the screen for a long moment, and then chuckled.

"Uh, actually, Addison, that's just a shadow. You are looking at your uterus wall."

Derek's eyes widened in victory.

"Ha!"

Addison pouted, and furrowed her brows at the screen.

"When then where did she go?" she asked, moving the sensor to the left of her swollen stomach. Miranda laughed.

"Here, allow me. I don't think she went far." She took the sensor from Addison, guided it slightly higher, and suddenly on the screen, a very clear outline of a five-month old fetus wriggled and pulsated.

"There she is!" Addison exclaimed, her eyes softening.

"Yeah, that's her." Derek agreed, unconsciously taking Addison's free hand in a tight grasp.

"She's very mobile for a girl." Miranda observed. "I remember when I was pregnant with Will, felt like he was doing the samba on my stomach every twenty minutes! I was always under the impression girls were a bit more tame."

"Consider her parentage." Derek quipped, earning a loving smack from Addison.

"Good point," Miranda had to laugh. "Did you two pick a name yet?"

"Bella Grace." They answered simultaneously, and then laughed.

"That's beautiful. Bella Grace Shepherd." Miranda tried it out. "Yeah, I like it."

"Well, I always knew if I had a girl, I wouldn't plague her with a stiff, formal name like mine." Addison reasoned.

"It's not stiff or formal!" Derek argued. "I always thought it was sexy."

"Oh I got used to it, but I always thought it would have been nice to have a sweet girly name." Addison touched the screen lightly, outlining the shape of the baby.

"Well, I've got rounds," Miranda handed the sensor over to Addison. "I'll talk to you later, and I'll see you in surgery tonight, Shepherd."

After the door shut behind her, Derek watched Addison watch the screen.

"You're beautiful." He said softly, aching in his chest, an odd sensation that he had been experiencing lately. She turned, and slowly smiled.

"So are you."

He laughed hard.

"Addison…"

"What?"

He opened his mouth, and then closed it. She raised a quizzical brow at him.

He half-smiled, and then replied, "Nothing. Let's print a good shot out for the grandparents."

_Fin._

**A/N: So I finished this quick today so that I would have it up before the Season Premiere because honestly, Shonda is certainly going to upstage me. Also, it's pretty intense in some parts (I blame iTunes for randomly playing "Moonlight Sonata" while I was writing) so…yeah. Hope everyone enjoyed it! Much love, and enjoy tonight! -Bleu**


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